shadow of the heart
by marissaisgod
Summary: AU. EC. Christine struggles to find herself, but eventually meets herself again in the arms of an Angel. Romance, fluff, multichapter fic. Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: Okay kids, here's another EC Phantom fic for you. I was very apprehensive about posting this, but against my better judgment I am anyway. This blends in things from the novel original novel, the ALW movie, and a bit of Susan Kay's novel, but it's **Alternate Universe** so as far as dates and such… they're really non-applicable. This is also going to be a multi-chapter story, as opposed to the one shots I've grown used to writing. There's no Raoul bashing in here, because he doesn't show up at all in the story; so I suppose in this sense I'm rewriting major aspects of the tale. This is a ROMANCE for E/C and there will be parts filled with sweet, touching fluff but also some angst, doubt, la-di-dah, to keep it at least somewhat realistic. Also because I don't have Kay's book handy, I'm not sure how to spell his cat's name, so if anyone knows please just let me know in a review! I don't want to spell it wrong throughout the entire story, hah.With all of this said, I hope you all enjoy the story and please review ! My standard for posting the next chapter after this is getting _at least 10 reviews_ on this, or else I probably won't continue it. 

A small cat crept along the underground corridors of the opera house, and meowed loudly as it approached an ornately furnished area. The pitter patter of her paws was ignored by the only person within sight, a brooding man seated at a large organ. The cat hopped lightly upon the organ bench and curled alongside her master, nuzzling her small ears into his hip. It was still several moments before the man set down his music parchment and looked down, acknowledging the small creature with a slight smile.

"Why hello there my Ayesha, did you enjoy your time away?" his voice was deep and smooth, and as he stroked his long fingers between the tiny cat's ears, he smiled at hearing her pleasured purr.

_At least you've never been afraid of me_, he thought inwardly, continuing to caress the little creature. With an awkward twitch in his heart, his mind went to Christine. Oh, his blessed Christine, how he longed for her… And how much she didn't know. Or did she? Months had gone by and their lessons had grown more and more intimate, her voice and his combined to create the most beautiful music he could imagine. But still, only once had he revealed himself to her. Taking her by the hand, he had lead her to his home, his 'lair', and there she spent the night with him, innocently sleeping in his favorite bed. She had not seemed frightened of him, nor did he force her to accompany him. The next day he had willingly taken her back up to her room, daring to leave a small kiss on her forehead before disappearing back into the darkness. Unfortunately, he had chosen to do all of this just before Madame Giry had planned to take the ballet rats on a small trip, and because of her good nature, Christine; along with the little Giry, Meg, had gone along to help out. Counting silently in his mind, Erik quickly realized that if all went according to plan, they all should be arriving back sometime late tonight.

Gently scooping the little cat into his arms, Erik made his way across the room and placed her gently down on several cushions grouped together on the floor. The cat meowed up at him with large amber eyes, seemingly pleading with him not to let her go. _Oh little creature_, Erik thought mournfully,_ if only others longed for me the way you do. If only _she_ longed for me they way you do…_

Silently, Erik walked away from his little pet and returned to his organ. Sitting down, Erik stretched his long fingers across the keys and breathed in deeply, relishing in the sound of his music. What an escape, what a relief, his music had always been. But now… now he felt haunted by something, something deep within his heart. He could play any tune, any melody, any note… and yet still, her face, ever soft and innocent, flashed before his eyes when he dared to close them for more than an instant. At first he had welcomed his dreams of her, awaking always with his lips slightly upturned, for once looking forward to starting a new day. Because a new day meant a new night, and a new night meant the prospect of another lesson. He had always enjoyed singing to her, serenading her into a gentle sleep, even when she was just a little girl. But then her own voice began to beam out, and he relished in teaching her, training her. The look upon her face when he was pleased with her, oh, what look it was! He liked to think that as she grew older, she came to look forward to these lessons and, as he could tell, more and more intrigued by this mysterious "angel of music" whom had blessed her with the gift of song. He remembered how long it had taken her to really sing out during performances, how shy and reserved she had been for so much of her childhood and adolescence. Always hanging by the little Giry, preferring to be one of the ballet rats rather than trying to excel in opera. Slowly, patiently, he had trained her voice until she knew she was ready to sing out, to be heard by more than only him. And what a voice she had.

She _is truly the angel of music_, he mused, resting his face in the palm of his hands. His skin felt strained against his palms, the creases in his forehead slipping into the lines of his knuckles. Stretching out his fingers further, he easily covered the smooth porceline of his mask, inhaling deeply as he did. It would almost be easier if his entire face was masked, his entire body, his entire soul even. Then he could just create his music, wallowing in this dungeon, and not become attached and yearn for a love that isn't there, that _couldn't_ be there. After all, she was an angel, and him the devil's child.

Shaking his head of these thoughts, Erik stood up quickly and strode to his bedroom. The room was furnished much as the rest of his living quarters, although his room was a bit more messy. Despite the immaculate order of his sheet music, Erik's own personal things were left much more casually. A pair of worn trousers were laid across the headboard of his bed, most; if not all, of his shoes were piled together next to his armoire. No family portraits or letters were left out, certainly because he had none to speak of. Instead, freehand drawings of Christine were sprawled across his desk, amongst blank pieces of parchment and half opened bottles of writing ink and quills.

Walking to his armoire, he began to unbutton his cotton shirt and slipped the white material over his shoulders, nonchantly folding it and laying it in a small basket beside his feet. Opening his armoire Erik reached in and pulled out another white shirt, but this one a thicker material, with larger buttons and a cut that was snugger to his body. After pulling this on he again reached in and this time pulled out a black over-vest, fingering the silky fabric before slipping it around him. Brushing his fingers through his dark hair, Erik let his fingers rest over his face again, this time making sure his mask was firmly in place. If he was able to see his Christine again tonight, he could take no risks.

Pulling on his infamous black cloak as he left his sleeping chamber, Erik headed towardshis boat.He paused momentarily to regard his little Ayesha, still sleeping on her mass of cushions. With a silent nod in her direction, Erik climbed gracefully into his boat and began to row through the lake, humming idly under his breath as he went. Although he had no clocks in his home, he estimated it was between 11 o'clock and midnight, and was unsure of whether or not Christine would even be home yet. He recalled Madame saying they would be arriving very late that night, if not early into the next morning. If she was back in her dormitory, would she even wish to see him? Again, he was unsure.

Trying to clear these thoughts from his mind, he shook his head slowly, shutting his eyes momentarily. Unfortunately, his eyes were shut several moments too long and his eyelids seemed to evaporate into images of Christine. Her sleeping in his bed, a tussle of chestnut curls enveloping her slender form. Her drinking the tea he had made for her before breakfast was ready, the plump color of her lips as she smiled graciously at him. The fascination in her eyes as she sat silently beside him on the organ bench, watching him play an old song he had memorized in Persia. One of the things that amazed Erik most about her beauty was her undying ability to keep that awed look in her eyes, never bored nor listless did she fall. Always interested, always curious, always intrigued. He only hoped her curiosity didn't get the best of her, and that she didn't long to see the man behind the mask. _Or rather_, he thought wretchedly, _the monster behind the mask_.

Stepping out of his boat, Erik steadily eased himself out onto the cold ground and regarded his surroundings with ease. Nothing seemed disfamiliar or out of place, so he tied a rope loosely to the boat and turned on his heel to walk up several stories of corridors. He lit no lantern and carried no candle, for he needed none to know where he was going. All of these corridors, all of these passageways, he knew by heart, much as he knew the music that he played. His feet were steady as they hit the ground, and made almost no noise as the sturdy material of his shoes splayed over the concrete.

_Why does it always seem to take so much longer heading up than down_? He thought, barely acknowledging the progression of unlit torches lining the walls. But how foolish he was being, he knew why that was, for although he had minimal human interaction he had read enough psychology books over the years to understand the concepts of the human mind. Why did it seem to take decades for him to reach Christine Daae's dormitory? Why because the anticipation of what may rest there, of what may rest in her coming back down with him, was enough for his heart to beat faster, blood to pound viciously through his veins. It was as though he was a young woman, awaiting the return of her newlywed husband from a long business trip. Should she try to wait up for him on the night of his return, perhaps only to risk him not arriving until late the next morning, when she'd undoubtedly fallen asleep in her chair? Erik smirked at the thought, but the thought of one more letdown couldn't stop him anymore. _After all_, he reasoned,_ if she wasn't there yet, it wasn't as though she wasn't there by choice, it was just a matter of organizing the little ballet rats, getting everyone settled into the carriages_…

_But what if she was there and did not wish to see him_? He dared not think further of that thought.

He had become so engrossed in his own mental battle, that he failed at first to notice someone coming towards him in the corridor. His ears immediately perked up at the sound of footsteps; it sound like only two feet, one person, coming in his direction. He was unsure whether or not they were headed towards him directly or just headed downwards, and sucked in his breath as he heard a shuffle, as though someone had almost fallen and had to steady themselves. Glancing down at his feet, he saw several rats scurry by him and figured that the other occupant of the tunnel had too just realized their being there.

Fingering his lasso Erik narrowed his eyes and steadied his breathing. Was this just another drunkard, a foolish scenary assistant who stumbled down here for a lack of other places to be? But why would someone be in Christine's bedroom, unless someone was snooping around her personal belongings, hoping to steal something from her, perhaps? At this notion, Erik angered still at his guilty until proven innocent, also anonymous, peer.

The footsteps were growing closer now, and he thought he heard someone clear their throat, but not as a means of introduction of their appearance, but to settle nerves. He couldn't tell whether it was male or female because of the odd echo affect and the quiet nature of the noise, and his mind racked for people who it could be. _I hope it's not that dreadful Joseph Buquet_, he groaned inwardly, _I don't want any blood to stain these clothes, I believe Christine rather fancies them_…

He was right beside a corner, and he could feel the other person standing there too, now there was suddenly no doubt they realized he was there. Both waiting in nerves, Erik let out a deep, but silent, breath and again tightened his lasso in between his fingers. _Now or never_, he thought, and leapt out silently from around the corner. _I wonder who's face I'll s-_

"Christine!"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: Thanks to all my reviewers! I'm glad to see that someone out there is enjoying my work, and it was all of your reviews which encouraged me to write, and post, this next chapter. I am disappointed I didn't get the reviews I requested, but I continued to write nonetheless, so I hope that this chapter gets more attention and some more feedback. I don't recommend skimming because laced throughout are some important details; especially those connecting the different versions; Kay's, Leroux's, ALW. Fluff is also seeping in, and in Chapter 3 romance fully blossoms ;. **PLEASE** remember that the referenced first visit is NOT the one that occurred during the 2004 movie, and Christine has not yet seen Erik without his mask. Also please know that I know **NOTHING** about the continental trade of honey! My goal is to have_ 20 reviews_ by the time I post the third chapter, which is currently underway. Please be kind and review, Erik would want you to! 

"A-Angel!"

Christine Daae stumbled back several feet, her face a prime example of the phrase 'shock and awe'. Holding out a hand to support herself, the smooth skin of her palm flattened against a wall, narrowly missing the outstretched 'arm' holding an unlit torch. Seeing the fear that mingled in her eyes, Erik quickly dropped his hands to his sides, slipping the lasso back into a pocket of his cloak.

A silence was the only thing that separated them, for physically they were mere inches apart. Her rapid breathing was easily audible, and she obviously didn't know where to rest her eyes. As her entire form began to tremble, he instantly regretted his cursed paranoia. _Why didn't I think it was only Christine_? He thought, but already his heart knew the answer._ You didn't want to get your hopes up_…

"Erik. My name is Erik. It is what you may call me, if you so wish." His voice was deceiving, smooth and calm, contradictory to the throbbing pulsation of his heart. He could feel his own body tremble in nerves, and he braced himself for the worst of reactions. Would she scream out, run back into her bedroom and sob herself into sleep? Would she cry out for help, run and alert the managers, the other performers? Would she bellow out that that dreaded,_ cursed_, phantom of the opera was really the masked man, still grounded to his spot in a corridor hidden behind her own bedroom mirror? Would she..

"Erik."

His name seemed to take on a whole new light when she spoke it, through a plump mouth softly tucking up at the corners, almost looking ready to smile. Though her voice was still shaken, unsure, she seemed unprepared to make any moves to flee from his sight.

He nodded slightly, letting out a silent breath. There, he thought calmly, at least she hasn't run from me in fear, perhaps we can make a go of this yet… Clearing his throat, Erik tried speaking calmly, every fiber of his body wishing that his voice not yet betray him to the apprehensions of his mind.

"I am sorry for frightening you; I did not realize it was you walking through the corridor. I thought whomever was crossing through this way was a threat, and I was prepared to take the," he paused briefly then, trying to place the next few words carefully, "necessary actions to accommodate that situation."

She nodded, her eyes now steadying upon his upper chest, as though unsure of whether or not it would upset him by concentrating on his mask. How peculiar she did find it though, that white porcelain half mask, hiding the left side of his face. The right side was so handsome, so perfect, she couldn't imagine what had possessed him to conceal the other half. Despite her curiosity, she knew she would need to ease into that particular subject, and after in taking a deep breath, she realized responding to his apology would most likely be a step in the right direction. Hopefully.

"Don't apologize; it's really I who should be sorry. You see I wasn't trying to trespass, or invade your privacy, I was really just trying to, well, you see I -" Though she had started out strong, her words became mixed together and she began to babble. As she glanced up at his face, those piercing green eyes were focused on her own, and as their pupils connected, she became lost for words. Such an intensity, such _passion_, behind those green eyes, suddenly her words all seemed too mediocre to speak to such a man. What does one say to someone so mysterious, so genius.. What does one say to an angel?

Looking down, she was startled to see his hand outstretched, the black material of his glove concealing his wide palm and long musicians fingers. Glancing back up at him she placed her hand within his own and knew it was alright. She was forgiven.

Without words he turned and began to lead her down the corridors to his lair, and she felt her heart race with excitement. During her entire journey away; be it only three days, who mind's it, it felt like an eternity to her, she had been reminiscent of her first night spent in his home. Walking through these corridors, she felt as though her soul was out of herself, spinning away somewhere far ahead, and physically she could only grasp onto her strange angel's hand and allow him to lead her to find it, to become connected with it. The first time he had brought her down into these passageways, she had seemingly found her soul at the large, intimidating organ which her Angel, Erik, had played at for her. _Tonight_, she wondered, _whereI will find myself again_.

The stairs were long, but narrow, and circled seemingly around and around, too many times for Christine to count, too many times for anyone to count. She tried, several times, to memorize the steps they took, the directions he lead her, but sooner rather than later, everything began to look the same; in front of her, and in her memories. So instead she decided that that would be a battle she would fight later, and succumbed to being led on by this mysterious, enigmatic man, this _Erik_.

As they approached the lake, Erik distinctly felt Christine's hand tighten it's grasp on his own, and he glanced down at her wondering face. She looked surprised they had made it there so quickly, and he subconsciously wondered if he had, perhaps, gone too fast, pulled her too hard; was she regretting coming? He had never really asked her to come, just assumed she had been on her way to see him…

Clearing his head, Erik also cleared his throat. "If you would still like to visit my home, mon ange, please settle yourself into my boat and we can begin the latter part of our little journey."

Nodding, Christine lingered her hold on his hand for several more seconds, before realizing she would need to let go in order for him to untie the rope. As she eased herself into the little transporter, she watched as his hands quickly undid the loose knots and the rope seemingly disappeared into his cloak. She knew it was troublesome of her, but she couldn't help but think of where the other rope had gone..

Stepping in behind her, Erik pushed them away from their port with a large paddle, causing a familiar ripple of waves to appear around them. Looking down, Christine watched her own expression become mangled in the water, and she watched Erik's figure loom over her, tall and towering in strength and masculinity. Her thoughts began to drift, and she soon imagined herself standing against him, her slender form looking petite against his robust one, her head resting easily on his chest. Blushing, she remembered that kiss he had given her at the end of their last meeting, so quick and soft she barely realized it had begun and it had ended, a gentle swipe of his lips across her forehead before he disappeared into the darkness. Oh, how she beamed after that kiss, falling asleep with a true smile on her face for the first time in a long while. As her mind began to wander further, she wondered if she would receive another kiss at the end of tonight…

"Christine." His voice cut through her thoughts like a knife splitting through melted butter, and her head snapped up quickly, eyes wide. He was, however, not angry with her, and she saw a very small smile upon his lips as he returned her stare. Her eyes gleamed at seeing that smile, how lovely it looked on his face. She only hoped she would grow to see it more and more often..

"We're here," he stated the obvious, for a lack of other things to say. Stepping out of the boat first, he again retied the knots and extended his hands to help her out. Gratefully accepting his help, Christine began to rise in the little boat, but soon stumbled over the hem of her dress and nearly toppled over into his arms. Catching her firmly, Erik felt her body grip his with fear, and he looked down into her startled eyes. "You're fine," he said gently, daring to stroke a few fingers through her tussled curls. "I have you."

As her breathing relaxed, Erik began to lead her through his home. Last time they had stopped at what she believed was his music room, but this time he did not stop at his organ, and led her further on. He crossed through a gauzy barrier into another room, and she paused outside of it, uneasy. Her curiosity was screaming at her to follow him in, but she didn't want to upset him. After all, if he had wanted her to follow, he would have told her so. Nodding a bit to herself, Christine stapled herself firmly to the ground and cast her eyes around her, admiring the arcs and foreign pieces of artwork that were placed around the entryway to his home.

Stepping back through the gauze, Erik placed a hand on her shoulder and said softly, "It is only my kitchen, mon ange, I thought you would appreciate something warm to drink, I realize how much the temperature drops and I have no doubt you were already frigid from that carriage ride after dusk."

Turning to face him, she nodded quickly and regarded the placement of his hand with a smile. Those gorgeous fingers were barely centimeters from her collar bone, from the base of her neck. In her purity, she could only imagine the way they would feel upon her skin, stroking her, seducing her…

His kitchen was impeccably neat and tidy, and she sat down at one of the tall wooden chairs surrounding the center table. She realized that there were four chairs, and despite herself, wondered why. Who else did he invite down to visit him, if anyone? Stroking her fingers along the table, she could tell it looked man made. Not in a negative way, heavens no, his furniture was some of the finest she had ever seen, but if he had made it himself, which she was relatively positive that he had, why would he bother to make more chairs if he didn't think they would be occupied?

"Sugar, correct?"

Her head snapped up and she blinked. "Erm, yes," she said without a second thought. Nodding, he turned his back to her again before momentarily returning to the table with two large cups of hot tea. Smiling, she wrapped her fingers around the mug and breathed in the hot steam. He sat down across from her, stirring his own tea with a small spoon before adding in several drops of honey. She smiled at him affectionately, for some reason, it amused her beyond belief that this masked man drank his tea with honey, not sugar.  
He felt her eyes on him even before he returned her look, and cocked an eyebrow at her mischievous little grin. "Do my exquisite culinary skills particularly amuse you, my dear?"

Letting out a small giggle, she shook her head so her loose curls bobbed around her like the hair of a little rag doll. "No no," she said quickly, smiling shyly at him now, "you just.. You use honey in your tea, and I've never seen anyone do that before. The other day, when you asked me what I preferred, I wasn't sure if you were mocking me or not, I assumed everyone used sugar, or cream, in their tea."

He smiled a bit at this, and mused in his own mind before responding. _What is this_, he thought, rather pleased, _I've made her laugh_…Taking a small sip of his drink, Erik welcomed the warm liquid, always soothing to his throat. Despite his size, he was not a man of heavy appetite and would often have four or five cups of tea at mealtimes as opposed to cooking a meal. He saw that her eyes were still on him, and as he placed down his cup, he returned her smile with a small one of his own.

"Would you like to try some, mon ange? I assure you, the taste is very sweet, but honey is grown from the far North and although not particularly popular, as of yet, in France it is spreading widely throughout Europe."

Nodding, she responded quickly, "Why yes! That…That would be lovely." She had had honey before, but not added in with a liquid. Usually it was part of a cooking recipe of sorts, meant to just add a sweet flavor but was blended into the dish almost to the point of scarcity.

"A- Erik?" His name still felt foreign to her tongue, but she liked the sound of it just the same. She saw his back tense up a bit, and she couldn't help but admire the smooth line of his broad shoulders, silhouetted against a chocolate brown set of cabinets, which no doubt, he had designed himself.

"Yes?" he pivoted in his spot and she could see only the unmasked side of his face. "You haven't changed your mind already, I hope?"

Nodding furiously, she said "No no, certainly not… I-I just wanted to commend you on your lovely erm, kitchen. I think the design is very attractive… did you do it yourself?" Feeling a hot rouge rush into her cheeks, she knew she may as well have brought up the weather.

As he turned back to face her again, Christine subconsciously gulped in a deep breath and shifted uneasily in her seat. _Why am I such a fool? Of course he did it himself! Who else would have done it!_

"Yes, I designed everything in my home myself, some of it has been altered slightly over the years, but the majority of it remains very much the same. Although, I can not take all credit for it, for my friend Nadir occasionally offered his expert opinion." His lips turned up in a very small smirk, as though Nadir's opinion was to be considered anything except expert, but that was to be their little secret. Suddenly, Christine felt very much stunned - Nadir? Who was this _Nadir_? She had never heard the name before, and she was almost certain this Nadir didn't work in the opera house… Did her Angel, _Erik_, have friends? Her eyes cast to the ground, she dared to drag her gaze over the floor, leading to his neatly polished black shoes. Despite his tidiness, she could hardly imagine he entertained very many guests in his home.

"Christine." His voice was always just enough to get her to look back up, to raise her gaze, dare to shed another layer of her shyness and open up again. First as a child, with her misery. Then as the years past, with his singing. And now, with her heart.

"Y-yes?" her voice displayed all the awkwardness of youth, all the uncertainties found in the years when nothing is concrete, nothing is forever, especially not yourself.

Looking up she saw he held out a large silver spoon, filled to the top with a gooey golden liquid - honey. Smiling tentatively she took the spoon from his outstretched hand, her fingertips barely grazing against his. Fumbling with the unusually large piece of silverware she felt embarrassed for a moment, almost foolish. Sensing his gaze upon her, she did the only thing she could think of to do - shove the entire spoonful of sweet honey into her mouth and hope for the best.

The rich liquid filled her eager mouth and consumed her senses, the sweet sugars sending pleasurable vibrations through her taste buds. Sloshing her tongue around her mouth, Christine nearly gagged when she tried to swallow, and Erik sensing this, arched a brow and took a step closer to her, hesitant on what exactly do if she began to choke. Blinking her eyes she reached out for her tea and sipped that slowly, letting the warm liquid meet the sticky sweetness in her mouth in a pleasurable cascade of delectable flavor. Finally swallowing, Christine put the empty mug back on the tabletop and looked up at Erik shyly, the rouge ever-returning to her cheeks.

"Too sweet for your tastes, mon ange? I suppose many would consider it an acquired taste; though I apologize for not warning you sooner, it is a very stick substance, especially in such a large amount. Forgive me for the criticism my dear, but I thought you were going to blend it in with your tea, or else I would have given you a much smaller quantity." His voice was calm, gentle, laced with an air of knowledge only acquired through the wisdom of age. Tenderly he reached out his hand and Christine breathed out softly as his gloved hand brushed hers, only to then quickly grab hold of her empty mug.

"Oh no, no! It was delicious, actually, it was me who was the foolish one, I shouldn't have tried to swallow the entire spoonful so quickly," as she stated her protests to his minor self accusation, he stood again and brought her mug to the tea kettle, gesturing to it with his free hand. "More, my dear? The water is still very hot."

Nodding, she watched as he again poured out the steaming water, this time stirring in sugar and a small amount of honey. Handing her the mug, he did not take his seat again but instead pushed in his chair and regarded her solidly. "It is very late now, and I'm sure you're tired from your long journey. Your bed is made and ready if you'd like to sleep the rest of the night here, it is dawning on the early morning and I'm afraid the walk back up to your bedroom may only exhaust you further," he paused then, letting out a slow but silent breath. "However, if that is where you feel more comfortable, I would be more than obliged to meet your request."

Taking in a long gulp of the sweet tea, she felt her whole body warm again. Leaving the mug half empty on the table, a hand still curled around the warm ceramic material, she looked up at him with eyes full of curiosity, excitement, and dared he think it, even _adoration_ dared to peek from behind the flecks of gold that danced around her pupils. "I would love nothing more than to spend the night here with you, Angel."

Erik wondered whether to correct her or not, but silently decided against it. He was surprised enough that she wanted to stay the night in his home; tonight wasn't a night he was going to push things and critisize her choice of words. With an awkward jolt of the heart, he easily remembered that there were things much worse than Angel she could be calling him.

The two left his kitchen together, her fallowing barely a footstep behind him, taking the same trail to her bedroom as before. Her bedroom, she mused on the thought. A large bed was where she had last left it, an ornate creation in what she assumed was in the shape of a Phoenix. As she slowly settled herself upon the mattress, the silk sheets rubbed against the small portion of skin revealed from her lightweight travel wear and she smiled, welcoming the comforting sensation.

Still standing, Erik regarded her contentment with a very small smile of his own. It was beyond his wildest dreams to even have her with him without her tremoring in fear and begging to be released from the hands of this-this _monster_ that he was, but to have her willingly spend the night? Her first time here she had been dazed, amazed at all that was his home and even, him. They had sang together, a strange duet filled with mystery, passion, and long lived longing. She had quickly fallen asleep while settled close to him on his organ bench, and he had delivered her gently to this very bed, covering her with the sheets and leaving her respectfully to sleep alone. But tonight, she expressed the exact desire to stay the night in his home, even when offered with the choice of going back to her own bed, she wanted to stay in this bed, in this home, with this man… Yes, a man, dare his head allow him to admit it, but his heart was beginning to gamble with the thought that maybe, just _maybe_, she regarded him as not a monster, but a man.

"I shall leave you to sleep now mon ange, I hope you rest well and do not worry about returning in the morning, I shall awake you with ample time for you to bereturn to your peers." Leaning over her awkwardly, he tenderly pressed his lips against her forehead in a soft kiss, pulling back before she had a chance to respond. Her mouth had hardly uttered a 'goodnight' before he had disappeared into darkness, the only thing left behind being the flame of a single candle she hadn't even noticed him light.

Slowly settling back into the blankets, Christine felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her, and she let her mind wander back to all of the happenings of the night. Sighing out, she ran her fingers along the smooth silk and gently rubbed it against her cheeks, smiling into the crimson colored fabric. _I wonder where Erik sleeps_, she thought suddenly, not having seen nor noticed a bedroom of his own. _Does he even go to sleep upon leaving me? If not, I wonder where he does go_…

As if to answer her thoughts, a sweet melody began to fill the room and she smiled broader, her eyelids beginning to fall shut. The notes of the organ were gentle and loving, causing her heart to fill with a tender longing to curl against this masked man, to sing along to his heartfelt composition. As his voice echoed throughout his underground world, Christine gave herself away to it, fully shutting her eyes and once more allowing herself to be cast away by this mysterious sensation; no longer foreign to her now, but quickly blossoming into something more, something deeper.

Drifting off into a steady slumber, the last thing Christine recalled thinking was back to an earlier thought, one that had brushed through her mind before they had even reached his home. Upon her first visit she had found herself along side him at his organ, and now upon her second she had been reunited with herself with again as she slept in the bed he had undoubtedly created himself. When, her dreaming mind wondered, would she find herself once more with him?


	3. Chapter 3

**AN**: After months upon months of not updating this story, I'm back. I've decided it's pointless to fret about reviews and such, and though I still want them, I'm not going to hold my readers at a stake over them… especially after realizing that the first two chapters have acquired a little over 1,000 views. I thank you to everyone who read the first two chapters (and is currently reading this!) and I hope you enjoy it. If you find the time, please do leave a review and remember.. Enjoy! **PS** This chapter is shorter than the others, and probably the shortest of all that will come. But I wrote the entire thing in half an hour, and it shows :/ 

Stirring slightly in her slumber, Christine rolled deeper into the blankets, her barely conscious state already hungering for their warmth. Stretching out her legs she felt her feet collide with something warm and soft, and a scarce few moments later she felt a sharp pain in the soles of her feet and quickly pulled her legs back, yelping out in pain. "Goodness!," she breathed, curling her knees to her chest and hesitantly peering beneath the blankets. Was it only her imagination? No, she could see several small circles of blood forming around her heels. What in the world?  
A cat! A small white cat stared back at her, and she could nearly see her own reflection in the creatures glass-like eyes. Letting out a small sigh of relief she was content to find that this was no monster under her bed, but merely a petite Persian cat, and a very well groomed one at that. "Come here, kitty.." she whispered, hesitantly reaching out her fingers. She wondered where the cat had come from, and how it had possibly found Erik's home. It wore a heavy diamond collar around it's furry neck, looked very well fed, and, as she looked closer, Christine realized even her claws seemed to be well taken care of! The cat, however, was not as friendly as Christine had hoped. She took a small step closer and then stuck out her nose to smell Christine's outstretched hand. Releasing a small giggle at at first feeling the cat' pink nose, Christine soon felt herself a fool when she watched the cat blink up at her, then turn and promptly prance away. 'Hmmph!' Christine breathed, but said nothing. It's only a cat, she reasoned, but she couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit offended.  
Slowly rising from her bed she stretched her arms high above her head and looked around lazily, comfortable in this exotic sleeping area. The first time she had awoken here was a time of excitement, confusion, and intrigue. Now, she still felt all of those things, but there was an element of comfort she hadn't developed at the beginning, and as she reached to pull on her dressing robe, she found herself feeling very much at home.  
_I wonder where Erik is_, she thought, pulling her feet into the small white slippers that had been laid out at the end of her bed. _A perfect fit_, she thought pleasantly, though she couldn't deny feeling a bit embarrassed at having a man pick out her slippers. _It wasn't the slippers_, she reasoned to herself, _it was the attention he gave her in its entirety_. Never before had she been put first in someone's life, and though she scarcely knew this man at all, there was no doubt in her mind that he valued her, on a musical level, at the very least. It made her feel special, important, even, dare she think it, loved, to have someone dedicate so much time and effort to ensuring her happiness. But in the same light, it also made her feel weary and uncertain. She hadn't told anyone, not even Meg!, about her An- Erik, rather, and she wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to. What would they say? What would she say? How could she possibly ever explain…them? She and he…together? Feeling a small tint rise in her cheeks at the thought of them 'together', she shook her head and went by a long learned motto. Worries can't be made on an empty stomach.  
Walking out to Erik's music room, Christine stopped to admire the decoration in his home. Carefully placed candles were lit as far as she could see, stacks of music were piled neatly on side tables and writing desks, and, she blushed, her favorite piece of his artwork - sketches of her so beautiful it took her several moments to recognize her plain self within his perfect portrayl of a woman much more lovely than she. "Erik?" She called out softly, her eyes scanning the area for his tall, lithe form. She spotted him easily, sitting at his organ bench, a bottle of ink balanced carefully in the palm of one hand, the other stroking a small cat. A cat! _The cat_! The tiniest bit of jealousy twisted in Christine's stomach as she saw the tender way he caressed the cat's slender back. _Don't be a twit_, she thought inwardly, and as she approached quietly cleared her throat. "E-Erik?" She called out again, a bit louder, this time.  
Jumping a bit in his seat, Erik turned quickly to face her, embarrassed that he had not heard her quiet approach. "Ah, my dear, so you're awake. I apologize for any noise I may have made throughout the night and earlier this morning, I've been working on finishing a piece I begun quite a long time ago." He paused awkwardly, afraid he had already said too much, seemed too over eager. "I do hope you understand"  
Nodding her head a bit, she offered her a small smile and was at a loss for words. The serene comfort she had felt in her bedding area had left her now, and instead she felt a timid hesitance overcome her. What to say to this-this _Erik_? He was certain to find her foolish and gauche, embarrassing and childish… A hundred stories and songs rolled around in her head, but she felt too afraid to begin any of them, for fear that he would find them all a pitiful attempt at being funny.  
Sensing her discomfort Erik frowned a bit behind his mask and rose silently, returning her small nod. "I will prepare tea in the kitchen again and you're welcome to join me for breakfast, if you so wish. If not, the library is, as you know, always open to you, as is your room." He saw the reserved way she stood there, watching him, waiting for him to make his move. His eyes lit up as she began to step towards him, though he couldn't for the life of him decide if it was the tea that had motivated her or not.  
Holding out his hand for her his brain screamed at him to smile, to whisper words of comfort, to do something, anything to ease her obvious uncertainties. "You may have a voice lesson after breakfast, if you'd like." At this her eyes instantly lit up and he felt his heart give a pleasant jump when she placed her small hand within his palm. Sitting once more at his small table, Christine settled into the seat and glanced around at her surroundings, her eyes resting on the bottle containing honey. She smiled, remembering its sweet and unusual taste, something all those who she knew upstairs had never had before, and could probably never grow to appreciate. _It's a shame though_, she thought, _because underneath it's strange appearance, it's a very enjoyable taste_. As her eyes regained focus from their brief day dream, she realized that her view of the delectable honey was being blocked. _That damned cat_! She thought furiously, and then was instantly appalled at herself for even thinking such vile language. Madame would be infuriated, she thought miserably, taking it upon herself to be humiliated in Madame's absence.  
"Mon ange? Is everything alright? You appear to be…unhappy. Is there something I can do to assist you?" Erik's voice instantly brought her back to reality, and she blushed a hot red at having been caught in another daydream.  
"No! I mean, to say, no thank you, I'm fine, I was merely…thinking." She smiled sheepishly up at him, wishing away the red heat that shone from her face and neck.  
Giving her a small nod, Erik poured her a steaming cup of tea and paused while he was tilting in the honey. "Do you wish to try something else? I have other combinations that offer a variety of tastes if you so wish to try them." _Why must you sound like a ten year old school boy_? He thought bitterly. _It's so apparent to her how inexperienced you are, how foolish. You can scarcely be certain she sees you as a man, much less a gentleman, and not a monster_.  
"Honey would be delicious," she said quietly, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment, and her lips flickered into a gentle smile. Sitting across from her Erik stirred his tea with a spoon, but refrained from drinking. As he began to clear away sparse sugar from the table settings Ayesha sprang to the table, looking to lap up a few delectable morscels.  
"Ah, my favorite leading lady is hungry, hm?" Christine could have sworn there was a chuckle in a voice as he spoke, and she could hardly contain her agitation. _She's his leading lady_? She thought bitterly, and then, cross with herself more so than the cat, thought, _Christine! It's a cat! You're being ridiculous_.  
"I see you've met my Ayesha," Erik said carefully, noticing for the first time the narrowed glint in Christine's eyes. _Can she…Dare I think it, be jealous? No, certainly not, perhaps she just has a natural disdain for felines. It's quite possible as they rarely allow pets in the dormitories…_ "I adopted her several years ago, after finding her near frozen to death in a snow bank. Her breed is a rarity these days, a pure Persian." He paused and held her out a bit farther, as though for Christine to examine her for the first time.  
"She is very beautiful," Christine reasoned, allowing herself to smile a bit. If not for the cat, at least for that warm tone in Erik's voice when he spoke of her. Christine was unable to ignore the haunting voice in the back of her mind that whispered, 'You just wish you were the cat'  
Nodding he leaned down to gently place Ayesha on the floor by their feet, and looked Christine straight in her chocolate brown eyes. "Yes, my dear, you are quite right - I tend to have a very strong appreciation for beautiful things."

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Please R&R! And sorry this chapter is lame : it'll be better, I promise!


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